


I still see flashing lights (when I close my eyes)

by RosieLeeYee



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Dissociation, Gen, If I continue this, Magical Realism, Maybe - Freeform, Not Beta Read, Not Canon Compliant, Realistic Minecraft, Swearing, TommyInnit Angst (Video Blogging RPF), TommyInnit Has PTSD (Video Blogging RPF), TommyInnit Swears (Video Blogging RPF), Wherein Wilbur going in that cavern mad left Tommy with some Issues, Wilbur Soot and Technoblade and TommyInnit are Siblings, Wilbur Soot and TommyInnit are Siblings, because TommyInnit, but right now just a slight implication of that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-18 05:14:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28986942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RosieLeeYee/pseuds/RosieLeeYee
Summary: It's hard, to heal when you still feel the weight of what happened pushing on lungs, bearing down with every quick breath you steal through numbed lips. It's hard, when constant reminders litter the fields of your vision. It's hard, when the people around you are convinced there's nothing for you to heal from. It's hard not to convince yourself of that too.....Tommy's not okay. But he's trying.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 142





	I still see flashing lights (when I close my eyes)

**Author's Note:**

> My first Dream SMP fic, and technically my first proper fanfic.  
> I'm gonna cringe so hard in like two years. 
> 
> Enjoy, I guess.

It's hard, to heal when you still feel the weight of what happened pushing on your lungs, bearing down with every quick breath you steal through numbed lips. It's hard, when constant reminders litter the fields of your vision. It's hard, when the people around you are convinced there's nothing for you to heal _from_. It's hard not to convince yourself of that too.

….

Tommy's, well he's not _okay_ , far from it, but, well he's been worse. He's been worse and that's all he can say, to reassure, to make himself feel better, to avoid prodding gazes and the memory of still-clawing night terrors. With a sun laden laugh and eyes so bright they burn with it. He's been worse.

Maybe that's why he does it. He knows it's dumb, knows it's a bad idea at a bad time with a bad target. But. But that's what he would have done, in the before, before walls and wars and disks and Dream. After that, too, maybe. Maybe even more so, when L’Manburg stood strong and Tommy stood stronger with it. When Tubbo was his best friend and Wilbur was his brother and now-president and they could do a n y t h i n g. When the world laid at their feet and Tommy felt like Icarus right before the leap. Bright, cocksure, the unsteady hammering of his heart drowned out by the excitement in his veins. He could do anything.

So maybe that's why he does it, to feel that way again, that sure, self confident, _barely betrayed_ way again. He thinks, this is what I would have done, he thinks, this is what I will do. (He very firmly does not think, maybe I will feel that way again, feel worth something again, feel _okay_. There's a lot of things he doesn't think about).

….

Ranboo is there, cheering him on, participating _with him_ , and man. What a welcome. What a first day. His grin stretches and his cheeks ache with the pull of it. Bright eyes dance with the sun's beams and the building fire in front of them, and Tommy's never felt so fucking a l i v e.

….

It all comes crashing down. Of course it does. Icarus reaches his apex, and then he falls, isn't that how the story goes? Tommy is Icarus and Icarus is Tommy and he's over reached _again and didn't you know star bright boys burn up?_  
He hears Wilbur cackling laughter, the boom of TNT, the roar of white noise in his ears, eyes filmed over seeing images no one else can see. Bows his head, avoiding Ghostbur’s confused glances.

….

Tubbo exiled him. _Tubbo_. His Tubbo, his best friend. He just, threw him away. He knew it was bad idea, knew it was stupid and there would be consequences, _knew he shouldn't have done it, knew better_. But. But this? For a moment the roar of blood in his ears blurs to the roar of a crowd, street decorations turn to those of a festival, an election, arrows fall _barrelling out of the sky, barrelling towards him, and he has to grab Wilbur, grab Tubbo, and r u n_. The moment is over and he breathes, white hot pain in his chest. He breathes, and Tubbo is in front of him, eyes open wide in mournful sadness, not fear. He breathes, and he's being exiled for a second time. Being exiled by his best friend.

At least Ranboo didn't get caught up in it. It would be a shame for Tommy to ruin his new life already.

….

Ghostbur comes with, which Tommy didn't expect but he's honestly too out of it right now to comment much on it. After all there's not much he could do to stop the undead man ( _not brother, not almost-father-figure, not, not ever again. He buried that feeling with the falling rubble of Old L’Manburg. He wouldn't be making that mistake again_ ).

….

He argued, at first. Overwhelmed at the sight of Dream, stood casting a shadow over them, stood on that wall like he was _above them_. And, well, he was, but only in the very literal sense. Anger rose in a sea of fire, slammed into him to yell, argue the injustice, argue that they couldn't just give in to Dreams demands, to _Dream_ of all people. Bluster and burbling vitriol building on his tongue with familiar ease, felt the words rise in his throat. _Bitch_ sliding free before he gathered the sense to stop it. His own way of negotiating, not quite as silver-tongued as Wilburs, not as theatrical as Technos, but effective all the same.

But. But he looked at Tubbo, at the eye bags he carried, piling higher everyday, at the hunched curve of his spine, at the flaking edges of an already thinly painted smile. Anger, disappointment, a tired ache that always seemed pointed in Tommy's direction nowadays. Realised he couldn't discern the look in his best friends eyes. Looked at him and decided not to add to his stress. Not any further. Smothered the inferno in him to a campfire, swallows the swears that want to spring forth.

He still blustered a bit, of course, he's _Tommy_ , it'd be a little concerning if he didn't talk back at least a little, and Tubbo, Tubbo wasn't making any sense, was going against his word, against the plan. He felt he had the right to be a _little_ angry, a little _upset_. _This wasn't the plan._ But, that firestorm of anger couldn't rise against Tubbo, never could, never _would_ , anyone who knew him knew his heart wasn't in it. That it was more so for show. For the _normality_ of it. Tommy always argued back. (Tommy was fine. Tommy would be fine).

Thought normality a comfort, in the haze of confusion and sadness and _how did I fuck up this time,_ but looks once more at Tubbo and that tightrope smile pulled close to snapping, fraying threads gone taut, hears Fundy and Quackitys rising outrage where he had lost grasp of his own. White noise rushes through his ears, Tommy lowers his head and swallows his words into silence. Goes, quietly.

He stays quiet.

….

They arrive late. Sun dipping below the cresting waves when Dream finally stops at an island and tells him to get off. He does so quietly, as he's done all things for the past several hours. He throws an “I hate you” at Dream, and means it, but the effort is half hearted out best and he knows it, so does Dream if his unimpressed posture, slight laughter, is anything to go by. He didn't know posture could _be_ unimpressed, but Dream manages it. He can't bring himself to care much, though. He's too tired.

Dream let's them build a meagre dirt hut, then demands all their belongings. Ghostbur complies with misplaced enthusiasm, as he seems to do most things these days. Tommy snaps out a couple more remarks, angrier than the last, but gives in eventually as well, standing by impassively as a whole is quickly dug and filled in the middle of the hut, set alight with TNT. The explosion makes his ears ring and heat licks at his face and legs, but he doesn't move. He just… can't. Can't find it in him to care. He'll find, or make, more stuff later anyway. Not like there’ll be much else to do in exile.

The thought of it makes his head lower, and arms come up to clutch at his sides. Exiled. Again. With Wilbur-Ghostbur. Again. Because it went so well last time. He moves unthinkingly to the corner of the hut, drops to the floor and waits. Waits for Dream to leave, for sleep to come, for his lungs to stop fucking choking him.

He waits and doesn't see concerned gazes that linger briefly in the dark. Waits and waits and waits. And eventually, the sun comes up.

**Author's Note:**

> Might add more chapters to this, or might just leave it as a one shot. Depends if I get the urge to write more.


End file.
